


Thriller Night

by PixelByPixel



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Budding Relationship, Cameo: Brett Mahoney, Cameo: Sister Maggie, Canon-Typical Violence, Foggy Nelson Is a Good Bro, Funny, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pre-Slash, Spooky, They are noticing each other a lot okay?, Zombies, cameo: foggy nelson, hopefully, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:12:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27200933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelByPixel/pseuds/PixelByPixel
Summary: After a coincidental meeting in a cemetery, Matt Murdock and Frank Castle make an unsettling discovery.
Relationships: Frank Castle & Matt Murdock, Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Comments: 38
Kudos: 74
Collections: Fratt Week





	1. Grave

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for [Fratt Week 3](https://frattweek.tumblr.com/). I'll be posting a chapter a day until the event is over. 
> 
> As always, thanks to [titC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/) for pointing out all those times that I forget Matt is blind and all the other helpful beta-things, and for all the hand-holding. <3 
> 
> See the end note for spoilery content warnings.

As a kid, Matty found graveyards soothing and relaxing. He first started sneaking off to the graveyard after his granny died. He missed her, and while he knew she was in Heaven, he kind of liked to sit next to her grave and talk to her. Seeing her name on the stone made it feel more like she could hear him. He’d run his hands along the words his dad had pointed out to him that one time they’d gone together: _Loving wife, mother, and grandmother_.

Grandmother was because of him, because of Matt. Sure, his cousins made her a granny, too, but none of them had loved her the way Matt had. They didn't live around the Kitchen, anyway. They never saw her. Matty had. He’d gone to church because he could sit next to her and hold her hand, and she’d whisper to him how much God loved him.

After she died, he kept going to church because he knew she’d be disappointed if he stopped. She would, and God would. Sometimes he lit a candle for her, and once a week or so, while his dad was at the gym, he’d go to the graveyard and talk to her.

Matt always chose his times carefully because he knew his dad would be sad if he knew. It wasn’t that Dad didn’t miss Granny; he did. He missed her even more than Matt, so much that he’d cried at her funeral, quiet, gasping sobs that seemed more like a fight than any boxing match Matt had ever seen.

They’d gone back once after the gravestone was placed, and then Dad never returned to the cemetery.

Sometimes Matt wondered if one of the graves belonged to his mom. His dad had never said, but Matt thought maybe she was dead, that maybe talking about her made Dad too sad, like with Granny. He looked around but didn’t find any Murdock graves from the right time. Well, except somebody named Lawrence Murdock, and Matt was pretty sure that wasn’t his mom.

It got harder to get to the graveyard after his accident and harder still after his dad died. There was always some nun or another keeping tabs on him, asking where he was going, what he was doing. The one with the soft voice - Sister Connie - would ask if he needed help and he always shook his head.

He didn’t need _help_.

His sight back, that'd be nice. 

His dad, even better.

A quiet walk in the graveyard seemed less important.

Besides, Sister Connie would probably say it was okay, but she’d want to go _too_ , and one important thing about going to the graveyard was that Matt could go by himself. Even after his accident, he’d managed it for a little while.

Eventually, he stopped trying to go. Granny would understand, and Dad… Dad would understand, too. He’d know that there were things that hurt too much.

It was better to stay away.

* * *

Matt had been spending too much time in graveyards of late. Sure, he’d had that emo phase when he was a kid where he’d hung out in graveyards, but he was past that. If he had a choice, he would avoid them, but sometimes he just couldn’t.

There had been too many funerals; each one made him wonder if this was going to be the blow that knocked him down for good.

If Elektra’d had an actual funeral, that would have done it.

Father Lantom’s had nearly destroyed him.

But he thought the most recent one might do the trick: one of the boys from St. Agnes had been adopted by a nice family only to be gunned down in a bodega robbery gone wrong.

And where had Matt been that night? Out with Foggy and Karen celebrating some legal victory… he couldn’t even remember what it was. He should have been there, should have been keeping the Kitchen safe; now Luka was dead, his parents grieving the loss of a son they’d barely had, the orphanage shaken to the core by the loss of one of their own.

People turned out in droves for the funeral and even to the burial. Surrounded by the kids’ sniffles and whimpers, Matt couldn’t concentrate on the service. The cold October wind whipped right through him, and he reveled in it, using bodily misery to distract him from spiritual misery.

For once, he was glad to be blind. He couldn’t see them lowering the small coffin into the ground. He let the growing thunder blur the priest’s words, the scent of impending rain overwhelm the sickly-sweet smell from the floral arrangements.

Matt tipped his head back as the rain began to fall. It seemed right, as if God was grieving along with them. If Father Lantom had been here, Matt would have asked him how this could possibly be right, how God could want to take this child just as he was finding a new life.

But Father Lantom wasn’t there. He was, Matt figured, about forty feet away. Well, forty feet plus six.

He was so wrapped up in himself that he didn’t notice Maggie’s arrival until she cleared her throat. The rain had distracted him, he told himself. Well, it had; it seemed as if the service had ended without Matt noticing.

“How are you?” he thought to ask.

“This, after Jacek Kowalski’s funeral yesterday,” she said, naming an older parishioner who’d died after a short, intense illness. “And Yvonne Anderson last week.” Maggie made a soft sound, too bitter to be laughter.

Foggy had come after him as he’d left the office for the funeral, pressing an umbrella into Matt’s hands and offering - again - to come along. Matt had accepted the umbrella but turned down the company. Foggy, with his huge clan, was no comfort. He wouldn’t understand the loss of a child who had finally found a family.

The umbrella helped, though. Matt opened it just as the rain picked up. When he drew Maggie closer, he told himself it was to keep her out of the rain, not because of any desire for comfort.

“Do you need to get the kids back to St. Agnes?”

Matt felt Maggie’s sigh more than heard it. “Technically, but I think I’m going to leave that to Connie and Bethany.”

“Bethany?”

“She’s new,” Maggie explained. “Recent transfer. Not much experience with kids, but she’s trying.”

“Then she should absolutely help Connie with the kids. Practice.”

This time, Maggie laughed, but Matt heard the catch in her voice as the sound turned to grief.

He - what should he do? Put his arm around her? It only took her a moment to get herself under control, but it wasn’t like Matt could pretend he hadn’t heard.

“I’m sorry,” he said, turning with her to go down the path away from the new grave. “Luka was a great kid.”

“He was,” Maggie agreed, her voice thick.

“Maggie, could you…?”

Matt didn’t know the speaker who called. Her tone was apologetic, her voice pleasant enough.

“Sister Bethany?” he asked.

“Yes. Looks like she needs help with the children.”

Maggie sighed and started to move away, and Matt fumbled the umbrella handle into her hand. “I’ll come by for it later,” he said when she made a noise of protest. “Besides, it’s easier to deal with the kids if you’re armed.”

That drew a soft, amused snort from her. “Thank you, Matthew,” she added, and her hand grasped his for a moment before she turned and left, raising her voice to direct the children to stop jumping in the puddles.

Matt envied their youth, their ability to find joy in puddles, even after such a sad event. He listened to them go, the noise of their passage blunted by the rainfall, then turned to make his own departure.

He was aware enough to hear someone approaching, though the rain and the wind made it harder for him to identify just who it was.

“Red.” An umbrella blocked the rain from his head and Frank continued, “Should’ve planned ahead.”

Matt didn’t say that he’d had an umbrella, because that had been Foggy planning ahead, not him. “Did you know Luka?” He hadn’t noticed Frank at the funeral, but between the rain and the crowd and his attempts to focus on the service, Matt could have missed him.

“Who? Oh, the - no. I was on my way to visit Maria.”

Frank shifted a little closer to get around some people and Matt caught a whiff of the flowers he carried. They seemed less overwhelming than the arrangements around Luka’s grave. Wildflowers, maybe.

“In the rain?”

The umbrella shifted with Frank’s shrug. “Felt like it.”

There was something Frank wasn’t saying, but Matt wasn’t going to push it. He and Frank would collaborate on occasion, when they could agree on an allowable body count - none - but that didn’t mean they _shared_.

“Okay, well. Thanks. I guess I’ll just -”

“Come along.”

It didn’t really seem like a suggestion, but things never did, with Frank.

Matt hesitated.

“Won’t take long, and then we’ll get coffee. I’ve had a shitty day, and since you’re here, maybe you have, too.”

Well. This was new. Matt didn’t have to think about it, though. He was cold, tired, and sad. Coffee sounded great. “Luka was eight and they just put him in the ground. Coffee… yeah. Lead the way.”

“Damn, eight? I’m sorry, Red.”

He didn’t take Frank’s arm - they weren’t there - but even with the noise of the rain, he could still follow along easily enough. Soon enough, they came to the spot. Frank stopped. When Matt moved to slide out from under the umbrella, Frank made a noise of negation and shoved the umbrella into Matt’s hand.

“Don’t need it. I’ll just be a minute.”

It took somewhat longer than a minute, and Matt let his senses roam, extending them as best he could through the storm. A few people here, another single mourner there, and… what? What was that, near the edge of the graveyard?

He didn’t want to interrupt Frank’s grief, but he was definitely going to have to investigate, and he didn’t want to just go. It would be umbrella-theft.

That was why.

But, no, Frank was coming back, and Matt wondered fleetingly if the rain that must be on his face disguised any other moisture. Matt didn’t think of Frank as the type to weep at anybody’s grave, but it could happen.

“Hey, let’s go that way,” he said as Frank reached his side. “I want to check something out.”

Frank grunted an affirmative and fell into step with Matt. They walked in silence for a moment, then Frank came to a halt. “Huh.”

“Tell me what you’re seeing,” Matt said. He was pretty sure he knew, but the rain hindered things. He needed to be certain.

“There’s an open grave,” Frank said. He started waking once more, his stride purposeful, and Matt hurried to keep up. “The gravestone’s knocked over,” he added, his tone holding a note of smoldering outrage. “And… fuck.” He lifted a hand as if to prevent Matt from walking into the open grave, which was appreciated if unnecessary.

“What?”

“The casket’s in there. Or, well, part of it is. So it’s not like they’re getting ready for another funeral.”

“Is there a body?”

After a brief pause, Frank said, “Not that I can see.” He cleared his throat. “Fuck.”

That, Matt decided, pretty well summed it up. “What does the gravestone say?”

“Don’t move,” Frank ordered, which Matt both resented and kind of liked. “It’s slippery. I’ll be right back.” After a moment, and the sound of some sliding that suggested Frank hadn’t been exaggerating, he returned. “It’s a double headstone. Wife was Rachel Kowalski, died five years ago. Husband is Jacek. No date. The coffin looks new, though, so it’s not the wife’s.”

The reality of the situation was starting to sink in, his initial shock turning to cold fury. “Yeah, Jacek Kowalski died last week. His funeral was yesterday. I guess they haven’t gotten someone out to update the headstone. Are there any tool marks around the hole?”

“Shovel, looks like. Damn. That took some effort.”

Well, at least whoever did it didn’t have a backhoe, though it wasn’t exactly a subtle sort of tool. “Let’s go to the office, let somebody know.”

There was a moment of hesitation from Frank, and Matt could feel his ambivalence: he didn’t seem to want to get involved, but he also obviously didn’t want whoever did this to get away with it. “Uh, maybe you could do that?”

Matt reached up to tap his glasses. “Yeah, and how would I explain how I knew?”

Frank let out a short sound, amusement barely winning out over frustration, and came back under the umbrella with Matt. “It’s just, they kind of know me at the office.”

_Really._

“How?”

“After, uh, Maria and the kids, and after I got out of the hospital, I came here a lot. Not always when the place was open.”

“Ah. So they’d remember you?”

“Yeah. But it’s got to be done. An anonymous phone call just doesn’t seem right.” He turned to head back to the office and Matt kept up with him, shifting the umbrella to try to cover them both.

Matt was pretty sure he didn’t imagine the intake of breath from the person near the office door. Frank went in ahead as Matt shook off the umbrella and folded it up.

“Uh. Mr., uh. Oh. I hadn’t realized it was today.”

Matt wondered what _today_ was, though Frank obviously wasn’t going to sidebar for an explanation.

“It’s fine. I just came to tell you that somebody knocked over a gravestone and, uh, opened a grave. Might be your people doing some work?”

“No.” The word came out as a squeak. Whoever it was cleared their throat and tried again. “The only open grave today was for the service we just had and I’m sure the gravestone was in place.”

After a charged pause, Frank said, clearly trying to be patient, “I didn’t do it. It’s out near Maria, name’s Rachel and Jacek…”

“Kowalski,” Matt supplied, hearing Frank flounder.

“Yeah. So get somebody to check it out, yeah?”

“Uh, okay. And thanks for letting me know. We’ll get someone out there right away.” The person sounded like, while they would absolutely check out the grave, they were saying anything they could to get Frank to leave.

Frank made a vague noise of acknowledgment and turned to go. Matt followed, relieved to feel no rain on his head as he went back outside. The wind hadn’t gotten any warmer, though.

“Coffee?” he suggested.

“Yeah. Diner down the block.”

Matt was somehow unsurprised that Frank would suggest a diner over a coffee shop. He wasn’t objecting, though. His breakfast had been sketchy. “The cops’ll find whoever did that, Frank,” he added, though he knew he was trying to convince himself.

Frank’s sound of derision made his opinion on the matter clear.

“Okay, yeah. But we have no idea why this happened. I can ask Karen to see if this is the first time, and maybe ask Maggie about Jacek Kowalski. Maybe he was buried with some expensive jewelry.”

“Oh, yeah? Then why did they take his whole fucking body, Red? Answer me that one.”

Matt found that he couldn’t, so he closed his mouth and thought about coffee.

“Yeah,” Frank said as he reached the diner. “That’s what I thought.”

He sounded tired, though, rather than smug, and Matt felt that, felt it in his bones. What the hell kind of world was it where people were stealing a body out of a graveyard?

After he and Frank got coffee, he’d go to Clinton Church. He’d light a candle for the repose of Jacek Kowalski’s soul, and then he would talk to Maggie.

One way or another, Matt would find out who did this.


	2. Cross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Frank get coffee, go tell Maggie what has happened, and go back to the graveyard.

Frankie couldn’t see the cross that somebody - probably his mom - had hung over his bed, but he knew it was there. He could feel it, like it was watching him, which was probably what his mom had intended.

 _She_ always seemed to be watching him. He’d come into a room she was in, and her eyes would just jump to him. It was kind of creepy, but at least she paid attention. His dad didn’t seem to know Frankie was alive, most times.

When Frankie was younger, he’d tried to get his father to do things with him like play catch, but his dad had always made an excuse: _Too tired_ or _Work in the morning_. Eventually, Frankie had given up.

The only time they spent together was Mass. Mom insisted and Dad kind of sighed and went along with it, and they all sat in the same pew and didn’t even look at each other. The cross there was bigger than the one in Frankie’s bedroom, and definitely more creepy.

Frankie thought about God as he stretched out in his bed, trying to get comfortable. He said his prayers every night because his mother stood over him, but he was pretty sure God didn’t hear him. Why would he bother listening to one kid saying things because his mom made him, when there were people out there in _real_ trouble.

When the pebble hit his window, he got out of bed. He’d changed back out of his pajamas once his mom had left and so was ready to go. His cousin Andy had said they’d come at eleven, that they needed somebody small for a job they were doing, and the adrenaline of the situation had kept him awake. Good thing. He’d never have heard the end of it if he’d slept through it.

Frankie opened the window and climbed out to the fire escape. He left his window open a little so he’d be able to get back in; not like his parents would check, after all.

“Frankieeee,” Andy greeted him, but quiet. Good. Dad could sleep through anything, but Mom might notice a loud noise.

Frankie made his way down the fire escape like he wasn’t scared and joined Andy and his friends. They were bigger - teenagers. Mom said Andy was a hoodlum and Frankie agreed. He just thought Andy being a hoodlum was _cool_.

“What are we doing?” Frankie asked as they headed down the street.

“Don’t you worry about that, cuz. Just do what I say and keep your mouth shut after.”

“Even at confession?”

Andy’s friends erupted into guffaws.

“Confession! Listen to him. What an altar boy.”

“Yeah, cuz, even at confession. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

Andy’s friends laughed at that, too, and Frankie was pretty sure Andy wasn’t telling the truth. He didn’t care, though. He liked being out late with the bigger kids. He just tried to ignore the church as they walked past it, especially the cross on top. A streetlight flickered and Frankie noticed the way the cross cast a shadow on the road.

 _Nobody’s watching,_ he told himself.

He didn’t really believe that, though. That would come later, when his absolute certainty that there was no higher power but what you made for yourself became a defining factor of his life.

* * *

Frank sank a little deeper into the booth, making sure his umbrella was out of the way. It has been a gift from Maria, saved only from his house fire because it had been in his truck, and he didn’t want to lose it.

There’d been a brief conflict with Red over who would sit where, which Frank had won. They’d both wanted to sit looking toward the door, but Frank’s muttered, “Not like you could see even if you were facing the door, Red,” got him the win, and also a major stinkeye from the server.

“Coffee,” he said, gesturing between himself and Red.

“One for me, too,” Red added, and Frank shrugged at the server as if to say, _What are you gonna do?_ “And a whole wheat bagel, toasted, please, with cream cheese.”

That sounded good, actually. “I’ll have one of those, too.” Red’s eyebrows did a thing that felt judgmental, and Frank added, “Please.”

“You got it.”

“Thanks,” Red called after the server, adding to Frank, “You’d better be a good tipper.”

“What? Because I’m not all _please_ and _thank you_ and charming?” _Charming? Shit._

Oh, yeah. Red’s sudden grin made it clear he wasn’t going to let that go, so Frank tried a diversionary tactic. “What are we going to do about the asshole from the cemetery?”

“Not kill them,” Red replied, though he cut off any further words as the server returned with their coffee.

“Bagels’ll be out in a minute.”

“Thanks,” Frank replied pointedly, even smiling at the server, who looked unimpressed. 

Red smiled. “How… charming.”

“Yeah, fuck you, Red.”

“Hm.” Red’s lips did a thing and Frank paused in lifting his coffee.

_Really? Nah._

Not that Frank hadn’t thought about it, but Red was so… Catholic, so Frank was pretty sure it had never occurred to him. So he said, “Not kill them. I guess you want to turn them over to the cops, huh?”

He finally took a sip of his coffee, before Red noticed and made another smart comment.

“It’s kind of my thing,” Red agreed, drinking his own coffee.

“But we can beat ’em up a little first?”

Red looked amused, though Frank wasn’t sure if it was at the possibility of violence or at the _we_. “Yeah. We just need to find them.” The server brought their bagels over and he amended, “Well, no, bagels first. Thank you.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Frank echoed, somehow managing not to kick Red under the table when he smirked.

"You’re welcome. I’m going to leave the bill, but take your time, and let me know if you need anything else.”

Red said something pleasant and - damn it - charming, and the server tossed him a smile over one shoulder, not that Red could see it. “Bagels first, and then I’m going to go talk to somebody.”

“Just you?” Frank prepared to get pissed off for being excluded, but Red shrugged.

“You can come if you want,” he said. “It’s just kind of church-adjacent. Not really your thing.”

Frank scoffed and then took a bite of his bagel, nodding a little when Red did the same. The way he attacked the bagel, Frank guessed the guy didn’t eat enough. “I’ve gone to church.”

That got a headshake and a little smile from Red. “Lately?”

The last time had been… huh. “Define _lately_.”

“Yeah, that means no. You should definitely come along, then.”

“I’m not going to walk into a church and see the error of my ways, Red.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t think you would. But you’d be in a church. That’s a good first step.”

“First step toward _what_?”

Red shrugged again and took a deliberate bite of his bagel.

Frank waited.

“Toward something,” Red said finally, maybe when it was clear Frank wasn’t going to say anything.

Frank scoffed and turned his attention toward his own bagel. He hadn’t gotten a bagel from this place before. It had a nice bite to it.

So he was going to a church. With Red. Not how he imagined this day going. “Who are we talking to? A priest?” Red shook his head. “That guy Kowalski, his family?”

“Just let me finish my bagel and you’ll see for yourself.”

Okay, Frank could do that. He finished his own bagel and that coffee, then went up to pay before Red was done, ignoring his protests. “You can get the tip,” he said. “Then you’ll know it’s enough to make up for my manners.”

That got him a grin and - shockingly - an end to the argument.

The rain stopped sometime during their meal. “Where’s this church?”

“This way.”

Frank let Red lead the way, then nodded when they came to the church. It had been in the news; it was where Daredevil - Red - and some guy in a devil suit had fought, where that priest had died.

“This your church? Where you…” Worship was probably the right word, but Frank didn’t want to say it. “… go?”

“Yeah.”

That explained some things. They went in through the front door and the lingering smell of incense took Frank back to his childhood. It wasn’t the most pleasant of associations, sitting silently between his parents, but he’d still stopped at the font and crossed himself before he’d realized.

Shit. Had Red noticed?

Frank sighed and then tipped his head back to look at the big cross at the other end of the sanctuary. No, it was a crucifix; there was a surprisingly built Jesus attached. It was supposed to be a good thing, right? A symbol of… something, Frank didn’t know what. It seemed to him that religion just got people worked up over other people not believing the same. Still, he found himself following Red down the aisle. Red stopped to light a candle.

 _Fuck it,_ Frank thought as he reached for a taper. Then he laughed a little. Inappropriate thoughts for church. He was lighting a candle for Maria, though, and she had about busted a gut when toddler Frankie had tried out his version of the word _truck_ at full volume during Easter Mass. (Frankie eventually figured out the word didn’t start with F.) Maria would have appreciated inappropriate thoughts in church.

He lit the candle for Lisa and Frankie, too, but mostly for Maria. She would have been… no. Frank wasn’t going to do the math. It hurt too much, just like seeing kids the ages his would have been hurt too much. But he always visited Maria’s grave on her birthday, and this year was no different. He hadn’t gotten to spend a lot of time there lately, so he lit his candle and stared hard at it, unblinking, and thought some thoughts that some might have considered a prayer.

When he came back to himself, Red was there waiting, silent, his hands curled around the top of his cane.

“Better?”

“No,” Frank muttered, not wanting to admit that maybe it kind of was. He didn’t believe in this shit, maybe never had. But taking a minute to light a candle for Maria on her birthday, that felt good. Frank looked at his - Maria’s - candle for a moment longer, then nodded to himself. “Where’s this person?”

Red tipped his head a little and looked like he was sniffing, then shook his head. “Not here. Maybe next door, though.”

Red set off, and Frank joined him. “What, the rectory?”

Red grinned, a flash of teeth in the relative darkness of the church, and Frank got that feeling in the pit of his stomach like he wasn’t sure if he’d stepped on a land mine.

“Other side,” Red replied, still grinning.

It wasn’t reassuring, but Frank went along anyway.

 _Next door_ ended up being the orphanage; the kids’ reactions - gleeful enthusiasm from the little ones and quiet attention from the ones old enough to want to be cool - suggested that Red had been there before.

One of the kids, though, tugged at Frank’s coat. “Who are you?”

“Pete.” The lie came out easy.

“You got kids, Pete?”

The question made Frank catch his breath, as it always did. _Yes_ felt like a lie and _no_ felt like a betrayal. So he didn’t say anything, just looked at the kid.

It was a little boy, gap-toothed and curly-haired. Younger than Frankie had been.

“You want a kid?” the kid persisted, another punch in the gut.

“Tony, hey, give Pete a break,” Red said. “He just got here, and you know that’s not how adoption works.”

“Worth a try,” Tony said, turning a grin up at Frank.

“Go on,” Red urged, though with a smile that took any sting out of his words. “I know you all have stuff to do.”

“Will you come help me with my homework?” one of the older kids asked. “It’s civics.”

“Sunday, okay? I’ll come by after Mass.”

This was a different side of Red. Frank wasn’t sure what to make of it. But the kids scattered, even Tony, and Red turned toward what smelled like the kitchen.

You didn’t have to have super senses to notice those things.

“Sorry about Tony.”

“Eh. He didn’t know what he was asking.”

“Did Tony ask you to adopt him?” The little nun looked up from chopping something, and twelve years of Catholic school hit Frank right between the eyes. A closer look at the nun suggested that Frank was maybe right to be wary of her, but at least some of those lines around her mouth seemed to be from humor.

“Not in so many words, but yeah.”

She shook her head, her smile wry. “Well, I don’t blame him.” She must have caught Frank’s startled look, for she added, “All children should be in a home where they’re loved. If Tony’s attempts to find one are a little unconventional, well, he’s trying.”

“Maggie, this is -” Red tipped a head at Frank, as if asking permission.

Frank supplied, “Pete,” but from the nun’s - Maggie? Aw, no, he couldn’t call her that - quick look, she figured something was up. But Frank had already told the kids his name was Pete. He didn’t want to cause confusion.

Maggie gave him a long look, though it was Red she asked, “Does he…?” Red nodded, and Maggie slid a cutting board and a knife across the counter to Red. “Make yourself useful, then. Onions make my eyes burn,” she added to Frank, “But if it happens to Matthew, he can close his eyes and keep going without worrying about cutting off a finger. Dice them fine,” she added to Red.

Red muttered something that sounded like, _Gee, thanks,_ but did wash his hands and start chopping. He was good with a knife. Frank wasn’t surprised, but the nun didn’t blink. Did she know about his night job?

“We’re actually here for, uh.” Red lowered his head a little. “We went by Jacek Kowalski’s grave.”

“Nice of you to pay your respects, though weren’t you at the funeral last week, Matthew?” She took out a knife and another cutting board and got to work on some carrots.

Red nodded. “It was, uh. I ran into Pete and then went with him to visit his - another grave. It happened to be near Jacek’s, and we noticed…”

He was really fumbling with his words. It wasn’t like him at all.

Frank stepped closer. “Sister, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but somebody knocked over Mr. Kowalski’s gravestone and appears to have taken his body.”

The nun stopped chopping. She looked up and met Frank’s eyes, her own clouding with dawning pain. Frank knew that feeling, that gut-punch moment. “… taken?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Sister. But yes. We notified the folks at the office, but -” He glanced at Red, not that he’d see it. “… _Matthew_ suggested we come here and talk to you.”

Red’s mouth did a thing when Frank said his name, but he nodded even as he kept chopping onions, the sound of the knife turning into a background noise. “We wanted to let you know and to see if maybe Jacek had enemies, somebody who would want to -”

“To do this horrible thing?” the nun asked, her voice gone harsh as if her pain had turned to anger. Frank knew that feeling, too. “No. Nobody who knew Jacek would do this.” She set down the knife, her hands shaking.

“What are you doing?” The nun who had just entered the kitchen was young and looked like Julie Andrews in _The Sound of Music_ , giving Frank flashbacks to that crush he’d had on Sister Mary Roberta in third grade. This nun sounded concerned. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“It’s all right,” Sister Maggie said, her voice smoothing and her expression calming. Neat trick. “This is Matthew, who used to live here, and his - friend, Pete.”

“Well, welcome back, Matthew,” the younger nun said, though she still looked wary. “But what are you telling Maggie to get her so upset?” She walked over and rested a hand on Sister Maggie’s arm.

Sister Maggie did not seem to enjoy the contact and drew her arm away, though she started chopping again, so maybe that was why. “Just some difficult news. But it’s all right, Bethany.”

Sister Bethany’s expression of concern was a little overdone; Frank was reminded of how his kids had acted when they wanted something. “Oh, no. Is there something I can do to help?”

Sister Maggie shook her head, though her chopping held more force than was needed.

“Well, I just came in to say that Sister Constance was asking for you. Something about a permission slip for a field trip?”

Red made a confused sound, and Sister Maggie said, “Connie, that’s who she means - but I hope that Joey hasn’t been forging permission slips again. It isn’t like we’re going to say no, after all.” She put down the knife and moved to wash her hands. “Matthew, Pete, I’m sorry. I have to deal with this. But thank you for telling me. I’ll let you know if I hear any more.” She paused at the doorway and added, “Matthew, don’t forget your umbrella; I left it by the door. And, Pete, you’re welcome to join Matthew at Mass on Sunday.”

What? No. But Frank wasn’t going to get into his feelings about religion. No, he just nodded and said, “I appreciate that, Sister.”

Red perked up a little, but there would be time later for Frank to dash his dreams.

Sister Maggie hurried off and Sister Bethany stepped up to take up her knife. “I can finish up here. Thank you.” She smiled, sweet as pie, but it was an obvious dismissal.

Red must have thought so as well because he headed for the door, picking up his umbrella on the way. Once the door closed behind them, he said, “That was the nicest _fuck off_ I’ve heard in a while.”

Frank exhaled a short laugh as he opened his umbrella over them; of course, the rain had started again, and his umbrella was bigger than Red’s. Maria had gotten one they could both fit under. “Yeah. I don’t think Sister Maggie liked her.”

“She’s new,” Red replied with a shrug. “She wouldn’t be calling Sister Connie _Constance_ if she’d been there long. Sister Bethany, I mean. Maggie’s been there, well, pretty much forever.”

Frank noted that Sister Maggie didn’t get a _Sister_ from Red. Interesting.

They started down the road, but Red came to a halt after a moment. “Can I ask you a favor?”

Frank hesitated. “I’m not going to Mass with you.”

Red grinned and shook his head. “Yeah, I was pretty sure that was off the table. But we had another parishioner die last week besides Jacek Kowalski, and the rain can mess with my senses if it gets too hard, and…” He shook his head. “You know what? It’s probably nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll go back to the cemetery with you so we can check on the other grave if you want, but it stopped -” He paused to listen, then, and heard the rain tapping on the umbrella. “Never mind.”

Red smiled, his expression a little rueful. “Thanks, Frank.”

L

As it turned out, it was a good thing they checked. The other grave, belonging to Yvonne Anderson, had also been opened. There were shovel marks, same as the other, and a shattered, empty coffin within.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Red agreed.

“How are they doing it?”

“I don’t know.” Red turned his head and Frank realized he was facing back where he’d been earlier for the funeral.

“You think they’ll go after the kid?”

Red’s expression wasn’t so much a smile as a baring of teeth, and Frank remembered a feral dog he’d seen as a teen at his cousin Andy’s dad’s place after he’d moved upstate.

“They can try.”

Oh, he was even using his gravely vigilante voice, like he thought he was Batman or something.

“I’ll gear up,” Frank said. “Meet you here tonight. I’ll keep watch, if you want to wait until it gets dark.”

Red looked started. “You don’t have to.”

Frank sighed. “Red, what the fuck kind of person do you think I am? Someone who would let people take a kid’s body, when I could stop it?”

“Okay, no, you’re not. But no guns. No killing, no more dying.” Frank made a noise that could be considered an affirmative, and Red continued, “We can…”

Frank listened as Red started making plans. He paid attention, really, but what he noticed was how often Red said _we_. He’d been doing that the whole day, like they were some kind of team.

Maybe they were.

Either way, Frank knew there wasn’t any way he was going to let a dead kid get taken.


	3. Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Frank make another discovery at the cemetery.

Matty was never afraid of the dark. Even as a kid, he generally found it, if not comforting, then at least neutral. Not good, not bad, just _there_ , like a table or something. His dad would tease him about _ghosties and ghoulies and long-legged beasties and things that go bump in the night_ , but Matt was never scared. He’d just say, “Long-legged like a dog? Great!”

And his dad would ruffle his hair in that way Matt pretended to hate.

Matt knew there’d never be a dog. They could barely afford to feed themselves, let alone an animal. Sure, he thought about getting a paper route or something to pay for a dog, but really paper route money could go so many other places first. And to get a paper route job, you had to have an in with people who didn’t want to deal with anybody whose last name was Murdock, so that was that.

Matt sometimes still thought a dog would be worth it.

Better than a dog, though? A brother. Not a little brother; some of Matt’s classmates had little brothers and sisters, and they were annoying. No, what Matty wanted was a big brother: somebody who would be there when his dad was gone working a fight.

When he was really little, Matt had asked his granny if he could have a big brother for Christmas. She’d laughed and shaken her head and said there wasn’t a big brother, no.

Matty had almost asked her about his mom, but even then he knew there were things he shouldn’t talk about. The few times his dad had mentioned her, he’d gone all quiet right after.

But a mom, maybe, might be even better than a big brother. She’d be there to wince with Matt when Dad got hit in a fight, to reassure Matt that everything would be fine and his dad would get back up, and to keep away the dark.

Not that Matt was afraid of the dark. But sometimes it was nice to be in the dark _with_ someone. That made the dark a little less… dark.

But no. Matt knew that there wouldn’t be a dog or a brother or a mom. After his grandmother died, it was pretty much just him and his dad, and he liked it that way. A dog would eat things it shouldn’t, a brother would go off with his friends instead of spending time with Matt, and a mom… well, not all moms were nice to their kids. Sometimes Matt heard them yelling - or worse - and he was glad it was just him and his dad. His dad didn’t yell. Sometimes when Matt got in a fight at school or something, Dad would talk real quiet about how he knew Matt was better than that, and it made Matt want to _be_ better, to prove his dad right.

Of course, after the accident, it was always dark. Some blind people could still see some, but Matt wasn’t one of them. Dad was there, though. He read books to Matt, sometimes stumbling over the words, sometimes having to stop altogether. “Got something in my eye,” he’d say.

Not long after that, Matt lost his dad, too, and the dark seemed even darker.

But Matty wasn’t afraid.

* * *

Matt double-checked his gear as he got ready to meet Frank at the cemetery. He planned to get there via the rooftops, as his mask wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.

Would Frank be able to keep up on the roof? They’d never tried. Frank was a big guy, obviously strong, but Matt didn’t think parkour was his thing. That was fine, though. Different people had different skills.

Seeing as how murder was one of Frank’s skills, Matt wanted to be sure all his gear was right, everything in place, in case he had to stop Frank from killing the people who had taken the bodies.

Matt assumed it was multiple people, at least; he didn’t see how just one person could manage the physical labor of it all. But the fact that multiple people were doing this horrible thing just sickened him.

He’d prayed for Jacek Kowalski and Yvonne Anderson as he’d gotten ready, and also for the people who had disturbed their earthly remains, that they would see the error of their ways. He also prayed for himself and for Frank, that they would be able to do what needed to be done.

After one last check that everything was in place, he tucked Maggie’s cross under his shirt. For this mission, it felt important that it be with him.

He and Frank had taken a spin through at least some of the rest of the graveyard after stopping by Yvonne Anderson’s grave. They hadn’t seen anything else unusual, but Frank had noticed that the security situation was somewhat lacking.

Well, that meant that he and Frank wouldn’t be caught on camera, even if it also meant they couldn’t get intel from the cemetery office.

So Matt took to the rooftops, trusting that the dark would keep people from catching sight of him as he moved through the city.

Being a vigilante - he guessed that was the right word - was harder in this age of smartphones. Anybody could post a video that would end his career; worse, it would end Foggy’s. Fortunately, smartphone cameras had a distinct sound; even if the phone’s sound was off, Matt could hear it in the electronics. He usually managed to avoid them. And the night protected him from the few that had caught him; Foggy kept an eye out and told him the pictures were often obscured by darkness.

Matt didn’t hear any cameras as he made his way to the ground, where Frank waited in his truck. Matt smelled metal, the kind that meant guns, and sighed.

“I said no killing,” he said as he came up next to the truck.

Frank leaned over and opened the passenger door, and Matt went around to get inside.

“You see any bodies?” Frank asked, the smart-ass. He sounded pretty pleased with himself, but then more serious as he added, “I’m not setting out to kill anybody, but I still want to be armed if things go sideways.”

“Frank.”

“What? I’m not wrong. And if we’re going to sit in here, you need to take off the mask. If we don’t go in, it’s a good spot,” he added. “This is the only entrance, and the fences around the place aren’t ones folks could really climb.”

“I could climb them.” Still, Matt pulled off his mask. It felt revealing, naked, being in the Daredevil clothes but not the mask.

“Yeah, well, not all of us are parkour ninjas, Red. Plus they’d have tools, and they’d have to get the bodies out somehow. Fucking wheelbarrow? I don’t know.” He exhaled a sigh that sounded frustrated. “This is messed up.”

“Yeah.” Matt turned his attention outside the truck, then asked, “Should we wait inside? Find a good vantage point, somewhere they won’t spot us? They’re going to lock the gates soon, right?”

“How the fuck are they doing this?” Frank didn’t sound too angry, just still frustrated. “’cause, yeah, the gates will be locked soon, and they bumped up security after the second time I broke in.”

Matt smiled a little, but the thought of Frank breaking into a graveyard to see his family’s graves wasn’t really all that funny. “Let’s go in,” he said finally. “We can find a spot where we can see the gates and… Luka.” He still couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that they were trying to prevent grave robbers from taking a child’s body.

“Yeah,” Frank said, grabbing a bag. He didn’t open the door, though. “It’s… different seeing you like this. No mask. No glasses.” Before Matt could answer, he was out of the truck. Matt followed him, the mask in his hand. He’d foregone the ropes, so he looked like a regular guy. People dressed in all black, no big deal.

It _felt_ like a big deal, walking around maskless in the Daredevil clothes. There wasn’t a security camera on the gate, though; he would have heard it.

“Thought you said they got better security. No cameras, not even here?”

“They had one, but folks complained. Didn’t want their grief recorded.”

That made sense. Once they were far enough inside the cemetery itself, Matt pulled on his mask. It had been dark for a while and there didn’t seem to be anybody else in the cemetery.

“How about there?” Frank suggested.

Matt turned in his direction and tipped his head.

Frank sighed, muttering something that sounded like, _Forgot._ “There’s a mausoleum at your eleven. It’s big enough to provide coverage while still being close to -”

“To Luka, yeah. Sounds good.”

Matt followed Frank toward the mausoleum, then stopped as Frank came to a halt, letting loose a quiet but fervent burst of profanity.

“What?” Matt asked, but then he realized: Luka’s grave, still fresh from that afternoon, had a gaping hole. Frank started forward, but Matt grabbed his arm. “The ground’s soft from the rain. Can you see if they left prints?”

“It’s dark,” Frank muttered. “Only reason I could see the mausoleum was the moon came out.”

“Doesn’t your phone have a flashlight?”

“It’s in the truck, and I know you don’t have a phone stuffed in those pants.”

Matt let go of his immediate thought - that Frank didn’t seem to be the type to notice pants - and exhaled a sigh. “Go back to your truck and get your phone. We’ll investigate things here, but I’m surprised that the cemetery people didn’t call the cops.”

Frank scoffed, though Matt wasn’t sure if it was because of Matt ordering him around or his mention of the cops. “They don’t want the publicity.”

Matt shook his head. “The lack of publicity is making it easier for these people to do what they’re doing.” He did not punch the mausoleum, though he considered it. He felt like he needed to do… something. But nothing would help. Luka was gone.

“… I’ve got a flashlight in my truck,” Frank said, and Matt nodded.

Once Frank had gone far enough, Matt couldn’t hear much of anything. This part of the cemetery itself was far enough from the road that the traffic noise wasn’t nearly inaudible, if Matt let himself tune it out.

He eased to a seat on the mausoleum’s step and let his head drop.

He’d failed. He’d known that these people might come for Luka, and they had. He should have been here, should have stopped them. The dark curled around him, feeling oppressive.

But why _had_ these people come for Luka? Yvonne and Jacek were both people without family left, and their absence, sadly, might not be missed. Luka, though, had friends, parents who would come to leave flowers for him.

People who would notice an empty grave.

“They must be desperate,” he said, his voice low but still seeming loud in the quiet of the cemetery. “Why didn’t they at least cover the grave? People might not have noticed then.”

So: desperate and dumb. This was not a great combination.

Matt did not get up and pace, despite needing to burn off some energy. He didn’t want to leave any more footprints than they already had.

“Why did they come tonight?” he asked when he could finally hear Frank approaching.

“Why not tonight?”

“The rain. This was the first big rain in a while. They had to know that they would leave more traces. Can you see footprints?” Matt got to his feet, adding, “Don’t go too close.”

“Don’t want to leave my own footprints, yeah,” Frank agreed, sounding a little amused.

“Okay, yeah, you know what you’re doing. What do you see?” Matt took a breath. He could feel his frustration rising. He needed to do something, needed to fix this. He didn’t want to think about how Luka’s parents would react, or the kids at the orphanage, or Maggie.

Frank moved closer, though he still kept his distance. “Couple different sets of prints, which we pretty much knew. No treads on these - dress shoes.” His voice changed as he turned his head toward Matt. “And who the fuck digs up graves in heels? Looks like she broke one.”

“Don’t touch it, okay? We need to leave it for -”

“The cops, yeah. Don’t teach your grandma to suck eggs.”

Matt rocked back. “What?” His granny never… _what_?

Frank laughed, the sound echoing oddly amidst the gravestones. “You never heard that? Means don’t tell me what I already know, ya whippersnapper.” He laughed again, and Matt wanted to tell him to stop, but maybe it was Frank’s way of whistling in the dark. “My grandmother said it to me when I was being a little shit.”

“Ah, so I’m the little shit in this scenario?”

“You said it, not me.”

“I don’t hear you disagreeing.”

“S’right. Okay, the tracks lead away, deeper, like they’re carrying something. And this set’s different, but lighter. Little feet, not carrying anything. Some treads on this one. Three people, at least.”

“Which way do they go?”

“We’ll find out.” Somehow, Frank had ended up at Matt’s elbow, and Matt tried not to startle. “You need a hand? There’s gravel up here, so we won’t leave tracks.”

“I’m good.”

Frank made a noise that sounded affirmative and then started forward. “Should have gotten some night-vision goggles.”

Matt fell into place behind him, trusting Frank to step where they wouldn’t leave tracks. “That would have been a look.”

Frank scoffed. “You’re one to talk. But if you’re going to have a getup, it should provide some sort of protection. Body armor.”

“Body armor makes it harder to move.”

“Yeah? So does getting shot.”

Time for a subject change. “What do you see?” They were getting closer to the edge of the cemetery.

“Still tracks. Where the hell did they…? Here, hold this.” Frank shoved his flashlight into Matt’s hands. “Shine the light over here.”

Matt sighed and started to ask for specifics, but Frank snapped his fingers a few times, the sound oddly muffled. “That help? Right at the sound.”

“Huh.” Matt shone the light toward the sound and then heard a creak and then mild swearing.

“They did something to the fence. You can’t see it until you’re right on it - I mean, _I_ can’t see it. But this whole piece comes out. Son of a bitch. Come on, we gotta catch these bastards.”

“Are you wearing gloves?” Matt asked, concerned about fingerprints. Still, he stepped through the opening in the fence and listened as Frank replaced the section.

Frank took his flashlight back and snapped his fingers once more. “Gloves, yeah. You couldn’t tell? Okay, there’s more footprints and then… shit. They must have parked a car out here. Or maybe a van.”

“Any cameras on the buildings?”

“Nah. They picked a good spot.”

Matt exhaled sharply, frustrated. “So we’ve got nothing, and Luka is still gone.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, Red. I was watching, had no idea they would come in another way.”

“No, don’t, it’s not your… I should have been there.”

“Nah, no -”

“I should have been there,” Matt repeated. “Luka shouldn’t have died. So I let him down twice.”

“We’ll find them, Red. We’ll find them, and we’ll get him back, and the others.”

Matt shook his head. “I’m going to go home and call the cops. And tomorrow I’ll tell Maggie - shit, I have court, and I still have to finish prepping. I’ll have to do it after, but -” Matt could feel things spiral: his life, his responsibilities, the world… yes, he could actually feel the rotation of the Earth.

“- Red!”

Frank must have been talking, though Matt hadn’t heard; his hands gripped Matt’s shoulders hard enough to bruise.

“What?”

“You kinda tuned out there a minute.”

Frank released Matt and stepped back, and Matt felt a little lost. Frank had, at that moment, been an anchor tying Matt to the world.

“I’m fine.”

“Sure.” Frank exhaled something, not quite a laugh. “You okay to get home? Not gonna miss one of your jumps or anything, with that parkour shit?”

There had been times when Matt had been tempted to “miss” one of his jumps. He’d never quite gotten to that point, though some nights the only thing stopping him had been the fact that he was in his Daredevil clothing, and his body would have revealed his identity and ruined Foggy’s career.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, and this time Frank scoffed.

"I can bring my truck around, drop you off a few blocks out so you can get up to the roofs, not be seen going into your building.”

Matt thought about saying he was fine again, but then decided, _Fuck it, why not?_ The sooner he got home, the sooner he could sleep, assuming his brain would let him. If he was sleeping, he wasn’t thinking. That held a lot of appeal.

“Yeah. Thanks, Frank.”

“Really? Huh.”

Frank didn’t wait for an answer, though. As his footsteps crunched down the sidewalk, Matt shook his head. Frank offering help, Matt accepting it, this was all weird. But it seemed like Frank wasn’t going to let this go, that he wanted to find the people who had done this.

Matt found that he was glad of the help. He almost laughed. Glad of help from the Punisher. As he waited for Frank and his truck, he smiled.


	4. Skull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank catches Maggie up on what he and Matt learned. Matt takes issue with that, and Frank goes home alone... or so he thinks.

In the end, Frankie had ignored his parents and asked his Aunt Lorraine to get him a costume. His mother had said the costume he wanted was grotesque (which was kind of the point, even if Frankie didn’t know what grotesque meant), and his father had grunted and told him to listen to his mother.

Aunt Lorraine was all for it, though. “You come here on Halloween, Frankie, and I’ll do your face. I picked up some tricks in beauty school that will make you look sharp. And then you can go out trick or treating with Andy.”

Andy, sprawled on the couch watching TV, didn’t even look over. “Ma, I’m too old for trick or treating.”

“You’re not too old to walk around with your cousin. I don’t want Frankie going by himself.”

Andy’s scoffing sound suggested that he didn’t agree with his mom.

“It’s okay, Aunt Lorraine. I’ll go with friends from school.” Andy did look over, then, his lip curling in a smirk.

He knew that Frankie had gotten in too many fights to have friends at school; since he didn’t want to go trick or treating, he didn’t rat Frankie out.

“As long as you’re not by yourself, Frankie. I know those hoodlums can get up to no good on Halloween.”

Frankie made eye contact with Andy again; they both knew that Andy was one of the hoodlums Aunt Lorraine was talking about, even if she didn’t.

Frankie would be fine trick or treating alone. Something told him that if he went with Andy he’d be more likely to find trouble than candy, and Frankie wanted that candy.

On Halloween, Frankie slipped out without telling his parents. His mom would make a fuss, but his dad wouldn’t care. He hurried over to Aunt Lorraine’s house and changed into his costume in her bathroom. When he came out, she was all set up in the kitchen.

“Ooh, you look spooky. When I’m done with you, you’ll scare the pants off everybody. C’mere.” She patted the high kitchen stool, and Frankie climbed on.

“You’ve gotta come over next week so I can cut your hair. It’s getting long.” Aunt Lorraine ruffled Frankie’s hair then put a thing on it to keep it out of his face. “Okay, hold still.”

“Will there be blood?” Frankie asked.

“Whatever you want. I think Andy got some of those capsules that you bite and then fake blood comes out. You want one?”

“Yeah!” Frankie would find just the right house to use it.

“You got it. Now hold still for real this time.”

Frankie did, even when the makeup tickled, even when it itched.

“You’re doing great, Frankie. Almost done.” Frankie watched as she got the red and put a little near his mouth, like blood. “Okay. Wanna see?”

“Yeah!”

Aunt Lorraine held up her mirror and Frankie didn’t recognize the face that looked back at him. Aunt Lorraine had made his face look so good, it made the rest of his costume seem cheap and clunky. Which, okay, it was.

“Put the hood on so I can get the full effect.”

So Frankie did, pulling the hood over his hair and yanking it tight.

Nobody would recognize him. He grinned, mouth tight against his teeth so they wouldn’t show, and the skull-face grinned back at him.

* * *

Frank got up early and took a little extra care with his appearance, even putting on his good jeans. He was pretty sure what he was going to do would piss Red off, but it had to be done. Plus, sometimes it seemed like his very existence pissed Red off, so what was one more sin?

He took his time with the walk, enjoying the crisp chill of the morning, until he finally came around to the orphanage. He looked through the windows as much as he could without looking creepy, then decided on the back door, the kitchen entrance. He rapped lightly and was pretty sure he could hear a sigh, but the door popped open.

It was the little nun - Sister Maggie. Good. She had a mop in hand and looked like she had just finished the floors, as they gleamed.

“Getting a head start on the day?”

“Oh… Pete, was it? Matthew’s friend?” Sister Maggie grimaced. “I think one of the children snuck out last night, as there were some muddy footprints. They tried to clean it up, at least, but they missed some.”

“Kids,” Frank said, with a smile that was only part a grimace. “You mind if I walk on your clean floor? I wanted to ask you something.”

Sister Maggie eyed Frank’s boots and said firmly, “Wipe them really well.” Something about her manner said, _Make it quick,_ but she still opened the door and sat down at the kitchen table. He did the same.

“I was wondering if the little boy who was buried yesterday had anything in common with Mr. Kowalski and Ms. Anderson.” Frank wasn’t sure if Red had called the cops yet, but Frank was pretty sure he’d beaten them here, if so.

“Well, they were all parishioners here, all died recently.” Sister Maggie did a thing with her eyebrows that looked vaguely familiar. “Why?”

Frank sighed. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but all their graves have been dug up.”

Sister Maggie’s head lowered, and Frank had a moment of panic. Was she crying? What was he supposed to do with a crying nun? But then she looked up, her jaw tight, and he was pretty sure she’d been keeping herself from losing her temper. “No, I can’t think of a reason why anybody should choose them for this… _evil_.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then asked, her face gone tense, “Is there a reason Matthew isn’t telling me this?”

“He’s fine,” Frank said, recognizing her worry. “No, really,” he added at her skeptical expression. “This is me saying that, not him. He had court this morning, and we wrapped up kinda late last night.”

Sister Maggie got to her feet and took two mugs from a cabinet, then poured coffee. She set one mug in front of Frank, then returned to her seat.

“Thank you, Sister.” He was still struggling a little with what to call her, but _Sister_ seemed reasonable. He took a long drink of coffee and so was caught off-guard by the little nun’s next words.

“You seem to know a lot about Matthew. What exactly is your relationship with him?”

Frank managed through sheer force of will not to choke on, spit out, or otherwise embarrass himself with the coffee. He took a breath. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Sister Maggie gave him a stern look, and Frank had another of those Catholic school flashbacks. It was all he could do not to detail every interaction he’d had with Red, which would definitely be bad.

“Uh. _Relationship_ might be an exaggeration.”

“He brought you here.”

Frank took a sip of coffee to buy some time. “Is that, uh, does it mean something?”

“He grew up here,” Sister Maggie replied. “After his father, well.”

“Huh.” So maybe it did mean something.

“So I’m wondering why he brought you here,” Sister Maggie repeated. “And why you lied about who you are.”

Shit.

Frank nudged his coffee cup to one side. “I lied?”

Sister Maggie scoffed. “Matthew might be blind, but I’m not. You have a very distinctive nose, Mr. Castle. So I really would like to know what you’re doing with Matthew.”

Frank inhaled and then let the breath out slowly. “Red led me to believe that you know, uh…”

Her lips curved upward just a bit. “Red? And yes, I know that he puts his death wish to use helping the people in the Kitchen.”

“Red, uh. A nickname, yeah.”

“You gave him a nickname?”

Frank tried not to squirm in his seat. “Yeah. I didn’t know his real name when we met, and I wasn’t about to call him -” He lowered his voice. “Daredevil. Look, we help each other out sometimes, that’s all.”

“Help each other out?”

Damn, she wasn’t implying what he thought she was implying, was she? She was a _nun_! “Fights and the like.”

“Oh. Of course.” There was that little smile again, and Frank seriously thought about just… leaving. “I would say _as long as you’re not putting him in harm’s way_ , but I know Matthew manages that all on his own.”

“Uh, yeah. He does that.” Frank, thinking maybe he could drink some without choking on it this time, grabbed his coffee once more.

“There was something I’ve always wanted to ask you.”

Frank didn’t lift his mug, just in case. “Yeah?”

“Why the skull?” She gestured vaguely toward her own chest. “I read in the paper that you made it yourself.”

Frank thought back to that one Halloween. How old had he been? Nine? Aunt Lorraine had made him feel badass.

Couple months later, she was killed in a drive-by. Kitchen Irish, the papers had said. They’d been gunning for somebody else and had gotten her instead. Frank hadn’t been able to do anything about it back then, but he’d remembered. He’d gotten his revenge in the end.

“It’s, uh… memorable,” he said, realizing the nun was watching him. “I wanted people to see it, know it was me, and be scared. And, yeah, I made it, and it was easy to paint. I didn’t do so great in arts and crafts.” He hesitated a moment. “Look, I get that maybe you don’t want me around Re- Murdock.” He couldn’t say _Matthew_. It was too weird; he’d barely managed it earlier. “But the things he does, it’s better when there’s somebody to watch your back.”

“And you do that? You watch his back?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sister Maggie nodded after a moment. “Thank you, then. And thank you for coming to tell me. I suppose somebody should contact the authorities.”

“Red did. Anonymously. The cops know what’s going on. Probably out there now.”

“Well, I hope they can stop this from happening again.”

Frank nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sure somebody will stop them.”

Sister Maggie gave him the barest of smiles. She knew what he meant. “Matthew doesn’t like killing.”

Frank couldn’t help but smile. “I got that, yeah.”

Sister Maggie leaned forward a little in her seat. “There are worse things than killing.”

If a nun said it, did that make it okay? Not that Frank cared about arbitrary definitions of right and wrong.

Frank saw her words as the dismissal they were and got to his feet after one last drink of coffee. “I couldn’t agree more. And, Sister, I’ll try and keep him from getting into too much trouble.”

That got him an honest, unguarded smile. “Thank you.”

Frank inclined his head and turned to go.

–

Frank went about the rest of the day pretty much as usual. He went to his job - hard work, but it was enough to dull the noise in his head - but knocked off a little early to go by the cemetery.

Cops were still there, so he didn’t get too close, just watched from a distance. There weren’t a whole lot of them, but one looked familiar. Frank drew a little closer and nodded. Figured.

Something about his motion must have drawn the cop’s attention. He looked up, saw Frank, and dropped his head for a moment before walking over to join him.

“You involved in this?” Mahoney looked tired, and Frank didn’t blame him. The whole situation made him tired.

Frank frowned. “You think I’d steal bodies?”

Mahoney scoffed. “Of course not. But you’d go after people who do, right?” Frank shrugged. “You call this in?”

Frank shook his head. “You gonna find the people who did this?”

Mahoney made a face like he’d tasted something bad. “If you’re here, I guess I’d better, and soon.”

Frank smiled a little. “Yeah, good plan.” If Mahoney found the guys, Red could find out who they were. And if Frank happened to find them… well, easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

But Frank sure wasn’t going to ask for forgiveness. People who took bodies, especially a little kid’s body, deserved what they got.

Frank turned to leave the cemetery and was only a block or so away when he found himself yanked into an alley, tugged off-balance. He came up swinging, then pulled the punch when he saw it was Red, still in his lawyer suit but looking pissed off.

“What the hell, Red?”

“You went to see _Maggie_?”

Frank shrugged. “You said you were busy, and I figured she should know, since it was her people. She handled it just fine. Tough old bird.”

That seemed to offend Red.

“What?” Frank asked, trying not to laugh. “She is. Kinda reminds me of my nonna.”

Red still kind of looked like he wanted to take a swing at Frank. “She shouldn’t have had to hear it from you.”

Okay, that pissed Frank off. He stepped closer, and Red seemed to feel it, but he didn’t back off. “Why not from _me_ , huh? I was polite, respectful. Lady’s a nun.”

“I should have been the one to tell her.”

“Why, because you go to the same church?” The idea struck Frank, then. “Was she there when you were a kid?”

Red’s frown deepened. “How do you know about that?”

Frank exhaled a frustrated sound. “Because she told me. What, do you think I was digging up your past or something?” Red got a little shifty-looking, and Frank asked, his voice unintentionally deepening. “What, did you dig up my past or something?”

“Only for the case.”

Frank rolled his eyes, not that Red could see. “And you’re feeling guilty over that? Altar boy.” Growing up in a Catholic orphanage explained at least some of that, though. Actually, it explained a lot about Red. “Look, if you want to hit me for telling your news, get it over with.” He stood relaxed, hands at his sides.

Red seemed to consider it, then shook his head. “When you put it that way, it sounds…”

“Childish?”

“You didn’t have to say that.”

“Oh, I did. Uh, the nun knows who I am, by the way. She said my nose was, uh, distinctive.”

“Is it?” Red asked, his eyebrows lifting higher over his glasses.

“Been broken a lot, so yeah.” Frank decided not to mention the grilling the little nun had given him about his interactions with Red. If she wanted to ask Red about it, he could find out then.

“Then why go by Pete?”

Frank shrugged, and maybe some of that came out in his voice. “The kids probably didn’t know who I was, and since I’d used that name for them, I had to keep using it. Doesn’t matter, though. I was just at the cemetery. Detective name of Mahoney was there. Know him?”

“Yeah. He’s a good guy.”

Frank, remembering a moment when Mahoney could have acted but didn’t, agreed, “He is.”

“I’ll talk to him later,” Red said. “See what he finds out.”

“Figured. You’ll keep me in the loop, right?” Red didn’t say anything, and Frank glared at him before realizing that was pointless. He moved closer, into Red’s personal space, which he didn’t seem to like. “ _Right_?”

Red frowned, his eyebrows doing a thing, but he didn’t move back. “Sure.”

“’cause I know Mahoney, too. I can talk to him. Just seems like the guy shouldn’t have to repeat himself.” He’d actually seen Mahoney the other day when the drug bust had gone down at the building next door to his. Frank would have handled it himself, but the guy had kids. Mahoney hadn’t looked like he wanted to chat, though, so Frank had just nodded and gone inside.

Red finally edged to the side, getting some space between him and Frank. “I said I’d tell you,” he said, his voice tight and irritated.

It wasn’t until Red stalked out of the alley that Frank realized he didn’t know _how_ Red would contact him. Not like they had each other’s cell phone numbers, or that snap thing Leo was always trying to get him to join. He wasn’t going to go after Red, though. Red said he’d do it, so Red had to make it work.

Frank headed home, grabbing a sandwich from Lenny’s on the way. As he got closer to his door, he wondered if maybe there was something off about his pastrami, as the smell was not great. He figured he’d check it out once he got inside, so he opened his locks and stepped inside…

…only to be met with a sharp blow to the base of his skull. The smell had gotten worse, too. Frank fell to his knees, reeling. Somebody was moving closer to him, but he couldn’t make out their features, just a blur of pale skin and dark clothes.

“Stay away from the graveyard.”

The voice was high-pitched but still carried enough menace for an entire gang. Who the fuck was it?

“Who?” Frank managed, before somebody - not the speaker - hit him again.

He toppled to the ground, his eyes closing, his sandwich landing at his side.


	5. Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt tracks down Frank, and then they Make Plans.

Matty let the door slam behind him, slouched into the kitchen, and dropped into a chair at the table. He sighed, peeked to see if Dad noticed, and sighed again more loudly.

Dad looked over from where he was getting ready to make grilled cheese. He was almost smiling. “That bad, huh?”

Matt rested his chin in a cupped hand. “We had to practice how to _hold crackers_. Dad, I’ve been eating crackers all my life. I know how to hold them.”

Dad put the sandwiches into the skillet and - yeah, there was tomato soup, too, on the back burner. “These are different crackers, though, bud. Wafers. They told you that, right?”

Matt sighed. “Yeah, but you still just hold them like crackers, right?” Dad didn’t answer, which Matt figured meant he agreed. The God parts were interesting, and Matt liked those, but having to practice holding a cracker… how old did they think he was? He peered up at Dad. “Did you have to do this?”

“Sure did.”

“Did you think it was stupid?”

Dad looked over, though Matt could tell he was still half paying attention to the sandwiches. Matt approved. He hated it when they got all black, which was why Dad didn’t listen to a fight when he made grilled cheese. Not anymore. “It was important to your granny, so I did it. It’s important to her than you do it, too.”

Matt nodded. He knew that, and he wanted to make Granny happy. He poked his tongue at the tooth that was growing in, then asked, “Dad, what’s a soul?”

Now Dad laughed. “You don’t pull your punches, do you, kid?”

“No way!” Matt replied, a little offended. “I’m a Murdock.”

Dad nodded, then asked as he slid the sandwiches onto plates, “Did you ask Father Lantom?”

Matt nodded. “He said he’d answer later, but he didn’t.”

Dad brought over the sandwiches and then the bowls of soup, and then a glass of juice for Matt and a beer for him. “Maybe he was tired. It’s hard work, teaching all you kids about your First Communion.”

Matt nodded. “He looked like he had a headache.” He bowed his head over his folded hands and they said grace, but Matt hadn’t let go of the whole soul thing. “Your soul is different from your body, right?” He dunked the corner of half of his sandwich - triangles, always triangles - in his soup, looking up at Dad as he ate.

Dad nodded. “Yep.”

“Okay, so how do they get in our bodies?” Dad took a big bite of his sandwich, and Matt added, “I don’t mean babies. I know all about that.”

Dad sat up. “You do?”

“Yeah, Joey Murphy told me last week.”

“Huh.”

“But how do the souls get into the people, Dad?”

Dad got that headachey look Father Lantom had had. “Maybe you can ask that at your next class.”

Matt sighed. He ate more of his sandwich.

Dad looked a little thoughtful. “Only the soul can see God,” he said.

“What?”

Dad smiled a little, looking like he wasn’t really seeing the room in front of him. “Just something someone said to me once. Probably a quote from something. I don’t know where she got it.”

“ _She_?” Matty asked, making an exaggerated gagging noise. “A _girl_? Ew!” His dad - being around a girl!

Laughing, Dad said, “I figure you’ll change your mind about that someday.”

“Ew, no!”

“You’re a Murdock, Matty. Trust me on this one.”

Dad leaned over and ruffled his hair and Matt pretended to duck away, but really leaned into his touch. He didn’t know what being a Murdock had to do with girls, and he didn’t care.

Not then, anyway.

* * *

Frank hadn’t gotten in touch. Considering how intense he’d gotten about it in the alley - rather pleasantly intense, in hindsight - that surprised Matt. Sure, it was still morning, but Matt had expected Frank to come pounding on his door.

He realized he didn’t know how to get in touch with Frank. No phone number, and he was pretty sure Frank wasn’t on social media. Eventually, he called Brett.

“What.” The way Brett said it, it was more accusation than question.

“Do you know how to get in touch with our mutual, uh, acquaintance, Mr. Castle?”

There was a long moment of silence from the other end of the line. “Are you involved with this, too?”

“Is that a yes?”

This time, the silence felt like restrained profanity. “He was asking me about those empty graves yesterday, and now you, too? Son of a - Look, we still don’t know who they are and they didn’t take anybody last night. You tell him that. I don’t want any more bodies.”

“Neither do I,” Matt replied, trying to sound reassuring.

Brett scoffed, not sounding reassured.

“But if you learn anything -”

“Let you know,” Brett interrupted. “I got it. You said. But if you’re working with - him - why don’t you know where he lives?”

“It’s not like that,” Matt protested. “Look, do you know or not?”

Brett sighed and, probably figuring - correctly - that it was the quickest way to get rid of Matt, he provided an address. “I don’t know which apartment. And, look, remember, Murdock: you’re a lawyer. If you tell him something and the body count goes up, that’s a problem.”

“Got it, Brett. Thanks.”

Matt put away his phone and headed for the address. It wasn’t too far from his place, but the neighborhood was a little more run-down. Matt made his way into the apartment building, then focused on his senses. Once he was able to filter out the detergent and the pot, the diapers and the perfume, he located the right one: third floor, nearest the stairs. A walk-up, of course. All that stair-climbing, that explained some things about Frank’s stamina and, Matt imagined - no, no, he definitely wasn’t imagining Frank’s physique.

Matt identified another smell, then, and quickened his pace.

By the time he hit the stairs, he was running.

Frank’s door was slightly ajar. Matt listened but didn’t hear anybody else, just Frank, his heartbeat slow but reassuringly steady.

Matt pushed open the door and then the smell of the blood hit him. He sensed Frank stretched out on the floor and rushed in, slamming the door in his haste.

“Frank, hey,” he called, crouching down next to him. His heart pounded and he felt himself being engulfed with furious helplessness, like when Elektra had died, when his father… “Frank! Wake up.”

Frank stirred and inhaled a sharp breath, and Matt found himself inhaling in response, gulping in a breath of shuddering relief.

“… asshole,” Frank muttered, not sounding entirely alert. “Wait, Red? What’re you doing here?”

“Where’s your first aid kit?” Frank was okay, would be okay. Matt would see to it. “And don’t sit up.”

“Bathroom,” Frank replied as, of course, he sat up. “Over there. Uh. At your two.”

“Damn it, Frank,” Matt protested, resisting the urge to shove him back down and instead following the smell of shampoo into the bathroom. He fumbled in the cabinet until he found the first aid kit.

“Scalp wounds bleed a lot,” Frank said, sounding a little more alert.

“Who did this to you?” Matt demanded. He washed his hands and dampened a towel, and then came out to sit next to Frank, who had gotten himself to the creaky couch.

Matt pressed the towel on the spot where the blood smelled the strongest, using his other hand against the back of Frank’s neck to hold him still. Feeling the warmth there and the way Frank flinched away, Matt asked, “They got you there, too?”

“Red, knock it off,” Frank said, though he didn’t pull away. “I’m fine.”

“Being passed out on your floor in a puddle of blood is not _fine_ ,” Matt snapped.

“Why’re you so pissed off?”

Matt… didn’t know, so he didn’t reply. He just pulled away the towel and then carefully explored the wound with his fingertips. Frank tensed a little but didn’t flinch away.

“Couple butterflies should do it. It’s not that deep.” He assumed Frank had butterflies.

“Told you. Scalp wounds bleed a lot. Frankie hit his head at a playground when he was five and apparently it was a fucking geyser.”

“Apparently?” Matt asked. He wiped off his hands on a clean part of the towel and rummaged in the first aid kit.

“Left,” Frank prompted. “No, your other left.”

“I thought you meant _your_ left.” Matt pulled out a gauze pad and what definitely smelled like antiseptic.

“Why would I tell you _my_ -” Frank cut off his words as Matt cleaned the wound. “Bastard.”

“You know, I’m not sure. I always assumed my parents were married, but maybe not. Dad wouldn’t have cared.” Maggie, though… maybe she would have. Matt decided not to ask, or if he did, to time it very well. He dried the wound and applied two butterfly stitches.

“Nah, you’re a bastard,” Frank replied, though his tone had gotten milder, now that Matt wasn’t applying antiseptic. He was quiet for a moment, then added, “With Frankie, when he hit his head… I said _apparently_ because I wasn’t there. I was… away.”

Matt wondered what Frank had been like as a father. The picture his mind formed seemed at odds with the Frank who killed so casually. “You were doing what you had to do. Providing for your family.”

“Sure.” Frank sounded wry and rueful.

“Let me check out that bump on the back of your head,” Matt said, feeling like Frank wanted a subject change.

“’cause you’re a doctor or something, besides being a lawyer?”

“I have some experience with head injuries.”

Frank scoffed, but he held still and let Matt run his fingers along the bump.

“Didn’t break the skin, and whoever it was doesn’t seem to have managed to crack your skull.” He pulled his hands away, suddenly aware of Frank’s nearness. “Bet you have a headache.”

“Yeah,” Frank agreed. He cleared his throat.

“Who did this?” Matt asked, his voice low. He didn’t usually act out of revenge, but this time he felt kind of vengeful. His head pounded, and he took a few deep breaths.

“I don’t know. There were two of them, at least. One was young, a woman. Light skin. The other was the one who hit me, at least the second time. And there was a smell. I thought my sandwich was bad… aw, hell. My sandwich. Fuck, it’s no good now, not after being out all night. Where the hell is it?”

“I’ll get you another sandwich,” Matt said, trying to get him to focus. “Pastrami, right?”

“… yeah. How did you know?”

“I can smell it. It’s under your couch.” And, now that he was paying attention rather than worrying about Frank, Matt smelled a hint of something foul and rotten and _wrong_. “Do you have mold in your walls or something?” But he knew the answer would be no, even as Frank made a negative sound. It didn’t smell like mold.

“Not mold. Not unless it sprung up since I left yesterday morning. This was new.”

“You didn’t know who they were? No idea of a motive?”

“What, like the list of people who want me dead is that long.”

Not a great time for a joke. “Come on, Frank.”

“No, they did say something. They said to stay away from the graveyard. The woman did. So you know what that means, right?”

“Back to the graveyard?”

“Back to the graveyard.”

They didn’t leave immediately, of course. It was still daytime, and even the boldest grave robbers needed the cover of night. At work, Matt went through the motions of his job, but he couldn’t help but think of the missing bodies. What had been done with them? The world was past the time of resurrectionists stealing bodies for medical schools.

He tried to work, to avoid thinking of the smell in Frank’s apartment. It had been familiar, though his mind had denied it at the time.

That scent, that wrongness had clung to Elektra after she had come back from the dead. It had been faint; nobody without enhanced senses would have been able to detect it.

Matt, of course, had never mentioned it to her.

She had died. She had died and returned and found herself again - eventually. It had been Elektra - it _had_ \- but how? Hadn’t her soul left her body at the time of her death? How had it known to return? Elektra hadn’t mentioned heaven or hell, and Matt hadn’t asked, hadn’t wanted to know if she could somehow remember where her soul had been.

If there were more people alive today who had somehow been changed as Elektra had, that made it even more essential that the people doing it be stopped. He thought of Jacek, of Yvonne, of little Luka being turned into twisted versions of themselves, and he could feel his pulse pounding in his temples, his breathing accelerate.

A soft rap sounded at his office door. “Uh, Matty? You have too much coffee today?”

Foggy. Concerned, but trying to make a joke out of it. Just his presence made Matt relax a little.

“I’m okay.” Knowing that this wouldn’t reassure Foggy, Matt added, “Just some, uh, night stuff. People are… really awful sometimes.”

That was the worst of it: that somebody had chosen to do this horrible thing. He’d been grateful for the chance to be with Elektra again, once she’d stopped trying to kill him, but he still recognized that the act that had brought her back to him had been wrong.

He thought it had been some sort of special process, used to resurrect the Black Sky. How was it now something that could be used on regular people, on a _child_? And why these people? Elektra had been brought back because she was special. From what little Matt knew about these people, they were good, but not extraordinary.

“Matty,” Foggy prompted, his voice gentle, and Matt realized that he’d gotten lost in his thoughts again.

“Sorry, I… did you want something?”

“Just to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am.”

Foggy’s skepticism was a palpable thing. “Want to go get lunch?”

No. He wanted to sit here and stew about the problem, but he recognized that this wasn’t exactly healthy behavior. He poked at his phone and it told him the time was 12:45.

“Yeah.” It would make Foggy happy and Matt could use the food and the distraction.

Of course, Maggie called ten minutes later with the news that another parishioner had died and would be buried in the cemetery.

“Are there usually so many in the same, I don’t know, week?”

Maggie knew what he was asking. “It’s not suspicious. People die, Matthew, and most of these have been older.”

So somebody wasn’t killing Clinton Church parishioners to turn them into… Matt’s mind flinched away from the word. “Okay, thanks. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

They said their goodbyes, and Matt made his apologies to Foggy for the interruption. He tried to focus on their conversation, but he kept turning the situation over in the back of his mind.

Who was doing this?

How were they doing it, and why?

Really, the identity of the perpetrators was the most important piece of information, because that was what Matt needed to stop them.

Whatever they were doing, they would not do it to one more person.


	6. Wood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Answers are found and a Decision is made.

Frankie felt the wood of the fence bite into his hands as he climbed. Splinters, maybe. Definitely scrapes. His mother would fuss if she saw, but he could try and keep her from seeing. And even if she fussed, it would be worth it. Frankie had heard some of the kids at school talking about how if you climbed the back fence at DeNunzio’s Funeral Home and then looked through a little window, you could see _dead bodies_.

Frankie was pretty sure the other kids would be too scared to do it, but he wasn’t a chicken. He just said he was going somewhere with Andy (who would cover for him; Andy owed Frankie) and then set off for DeNunzio’s. There was a handy trash can to give him a boost, and he started to climb.

By the time Frankie finally made it over the fence, his hands were pretty raw. He didn’t care, though he could feel them throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He was super quiet as he crossed the little backyard and… yeah, there was the window, right near the ground, looking into the basement. Shaking a little - from climbing the fence, of course - Frankie crouched down and peered through the window. It took him a moment to find it, but there it was! Stretched out on the table! An actual dead body! Frankie could hardly breathe.

The dead body looked like a man, an older one. He had a blanket pulled up to his chin so Frankie couldn’t see if he had bullet holes or anything. Bummer.

Frankie stayed there for a little while, just looking. It was just when he was getting ready to go that he thought the dead guy moved. It wasn’t anything big, just a little foot twitch, but Frankie froze, watching to see if it happened again. It was only when Frankie decided that he’d been imagining things that the dead body sat up.

Frankie could feel his palms start sweating and his hair standing up. He let out a yell - he couldn’t help it - and turned to run.

He could hear the guy - the zombie! - yelling after him, and he put on a burst of speed.

He absolutely would have made it, if not for the fence.

“Hey,” the zombie panted.

Frankie didn’t yell again, but he did try harder to get up the fence. No trash can on this side, though, and then the zombie got him! Frankie squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the zombie to eat his brains.

“Open your eyes,” the zombie said, sounding tired and maybe a little annoyed.

Frankie peeked. The zombie had wild hair and his eyes looked a little red. So did his face, and he was breathing hard. He must be one of the fast zombies, like in that movie with the dog that Frankie had watched at Andy’s.

Those zombies hadn’t really breathed, though.

“Sorry I scared you,” the zombie added. “I was out drinking last night and thought I’d get a nap. Damn, you did a number on your hands, kid. Want me to put something on them? I’ve got some Neosporin.”

Frankie remembered that his hands hurt. He’d forgotten, in his rush to avoid being eaten.

“Yeah,” he said. “Uh. In there?”

“Relax. The dead stay dead at DeNunzio’s.” He grinned, then, adding, “That’d be a good slogan. I’m Jake. Were you coming to try and see a body?”

Frankie nodded. Jake started back for the funeral home and Frankie followed him. Sure, they talked about stranger danger at school, but Jake seemed really nice.

Fortunately for Frankie, he was as nice as he seemed. He wouldn’t let Frankie see a dead body - “They’re people, kid, not entertainment.” - but he fixed up his hands and gave him a lollipop.

As it turned out, Frankie saw plenty of dead bodies as he got older.

* * *

“We should split up.”

Frank walked over to the window, not thinking about how weird it was that he was in Red’s apartment, with Red sitting on his couch, still in his lawyer clothes, looking tired and kind of grumpy.

Red was already shaking his head, though. “It’s better if we stick together.” His lips turned up in that cocky, lawyer grin. “Don’t you watch horror movies?”

Frank scoffed. “This is real life. And in real life, it’s better to have eyes in multiple places.”

Red didn’t say anything.

Frank realized what he’d said. Goddammit. “I mean -”

“It’s fine,” Red interrupted. “I get your point.” Frowning, he pulled off his tie and tossed it to land neatly on his table, and Frank felt like it was okay to talk about eyes when a guy could do shit like that. “So you outside, me in?” he asked.

Frank shrugged. “That could work. We know how they’re getting in. But what about the cops? Will they be there?”

Red took off his jacket and disappeared into what Frank assumed was his bedroom. He raised his voice as he continued, and Frank found that the sound of rustling fabric made it hard for him to focus on the task at hand.

“Cops would spook them,” Red said. “I can talk to Mahoney.”

“He’ll say they can go in regular clothes or something.” Frank shook his head. “I’ll handle the cops.”

Red appeared in the entrance to the other room wearing just his pants, and Frank suddenly found concentrating all but impossible. Red looked good, which was unsurprising given all that parkour shit, and he also had an impressive number of scars. Frank took a moment to imagine how they’d feel under his hands, how…

“Handling the cops doesn’t mean killing them, right?” Frank didn’t answer and Red snapped his fingers up by his head. “ _Frank_.”

“No killing,” Frank agreed. “I can provide a distraction.” He could call in a tip about some shit he knew was going down, something big enough that the activities in the graveyard would be small potatoes.

Red sighed but went back into the room. After a minute or two, he came back out wearing all black and carrying his combat boots.

“The mask is a little, uh, obvious,” Frank suggested. “Go in like that and put the mask on later.”

Red clearly didn’t like that idea, but he nodded. “You can find somewhere with a view of that spot in the fence. Need any gear?”

“Nah, it’s in the truck.” Red did that head-tilt thing, and Frank added, “It’s good to be prepared.”

Red scoffed. “Like you were a Boy Scout.”

“I could have been a Boy Scout,” Frank said. “I wasn’t, but I could have been.”

Red smiled a little and looked ready to go, but then he hesitated. “You sure you want to do this? They came after you. Might do it again.”

Frank scoffed. “Like a knock on the head will stop me.” He leaned closer to Red and could feel himself getting intense as he added, “We’re going to get these people, Red, and we’re going to stop them from doing this again.”

“… to the fullest extent of the law, right?”

Frank sighed. “I won’t kill them on purpose. That good enough?” Red nodded, which, well, was the only acceptable answer. Red couldn’t - well, no, Red absolutely _could_ blame him for something he hadn’t done on purpose, with the Catholic guilt and all, but Frank wasn’t going to let that bother him. He’d do what needed doing and that was that. Frank added, “C’mon. I’ll drop you off a few blocks away from the cemetery, then find a good place to watch that spot in the fence.”

Red grabbed his mask and the two of them headed downstairs together.

“It’ll be like when my dates would drop me off a few blocks from the orphanage, so the nuns didn’t know what I was doing.”

“Sneaking out to see girls?” Frank asked, laughing a little despite himself. “I’m impressed.”

“Usually girls, but not always,” Red said, after a pause that felt significant.

Wait, what?

Red didn’t mean what Frank thought he meant, did he?

Well, what else could he mean?

“Huh,” Frank said because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Red paused at the passenger side of the truck, getting ready to open the door. “I thought - never mind.”

Frank stepped behind Red, just a few inches from his back. “What?”

“Thought, when I came out earlier, without…” He picked at his shirt with one hand as Frank stared in disbelief: the honey-tongued lawyer, tripping over his words? “Anyway, I thought you were, uh, paying attention.”

Shit, had Red sensed something somehow?

“I was.”

Red was a human lie detector, after all; he’d know if Frank didn’t tell the truth. Frank took a moment to consider all the polite little lies people told each other, and how Red could never let himself truly believe them. Damn.

“Oh.” Red was still facing the truck, but Frank caught a hint of a smile in the ripple of his reflection on the window. “Good.”

Frank exhaled a short laugh. He went around to open the driver’s side and get in, then leaned over to open the passenger side. Red was still standing there, and Frank caught a glimpse of a pretty dopey grin before Red grew more serious, all business.

“Your distraction all set?”

“I’ll call it in once we get there. No fatalities, just will take a lot of people.”

Frank started the car and drove toward the cemetery. He wanted to ask about Red’s dates in high school, but he let the silence stand. And if he was driving a little slowly, Red didn’t comment.

When Frank pulled into a spot a few blocks from the graveyard, Red just sat there for a moment. “Be careful, okay?”

Frank scoffed but then nodded. “Yeah. You, too.”

Red got out and headed down the street, moving briskly. Frank watched him leave and then got back on the road. He managed to find a spot with a decent view of the fence, turned off his car, and called the cops with his tip before settling in for the wait.

As it grew darker, Frank noticed that the nearby streetlights had been broken. He wasn’t sure if he’d missed that last time, or if this was a new development.

Not long after full dark, a white panel van pulled into the spot directly in front of the broken fence. “They’re here,” he whispered, trusting Red was paying attention and could hear from wherever he was.

Frank frowned.

Two of them had an odd, shuffling gait; a third, the smallest of them, moved more easily. That one, who had been driving the van, moved to help an even smaller one out of the car, and Frank felt a cold chill go down his spine. A kid? The kid had the same shuffle as the others. What the fuck? Why would they bring a kid? Why did they move so strangely? The wind changed, and Frank caught a whiff of that awful smell from when he’d been jumped in his apartment.

The driver said something, but Frank was too far to hear what. The largest of the group moved aside the broken part of the fence then came back to get some shovels, and they all went inside.

Much as Frank wanted to take them all out, he knew Red would want evidence or some such, so he got out of his truck, closed the door as quietly as he could, and followed them.

He wasn’t sure where the most recent grave was, so he just kept a good distance. They didn’t notice him, though; the driver seemed more occupied with making sure the littlest one kept up.

“This is some fucked up shit,” he whispered. He waited for them to get a little farther ahead, hunching his shoulders against a sudden gust of wind.

It was all he could do not to yell as sharp fingers raked his back; once he remembered to breathe, he realized that a tree had been caught by the wind and scratched him. Fuck. The maintenance people needed to do some pruning. He tried to remember the date. Was it Halloween? It sure fucking felt like Halloween.

The darkness made it hard to tell, but Frank thought he saw freshly-turned soil near where the four stopped. The larger two started to shovel, and the little one, the kid, turned back toward Frank. The moon came out from behind a cloud to bathe the kid in light, and Frank could see the utter blankness in his eyes.

Fuck this. They’d stuck the shovels in the ground; that was enough for Frank.

But, no, Red was already there, vaulting out of a fucking _tree_ to knock down the biggest one. Frank bolted toward the grave as Red rolled to his feet, but the big guy - now that he was close, Frank could see it was an older man - stayed down.

“Kid, get down,” Frank called, readying his gun. The child didn’t move. This was too strange.

“Frank, no,” Red protested. He turned and dove for the smallest of the adults, knocking them to the ground and pinning them. This one fought back, twisting out of Red’s grasp and managing an impressive kip up to get to her feet.

Frank and Red both came to a halt when they realized who it was.

“Sister Bethany?” Red asked.

“That,” Frank said, cocking his pistol, “Is not a nun.”

“No,” Bethany replied, her hands coming up as if they could guard against bullets. “I’m not.”

Frank was all set to put her down, despite what he’d said to Red, but Red grabbed a piece of wood from a fallen branch and flung it at Frank, knocking his hand and making him drop the gun.

Frank swore and scrambled for it, but Bethany - and how was this a world in which he was fighting someone called _Bethany_? - made a leap and beat him to it.

She rolled to her feet, Frank’s gun in her hands. Before either Frank or Red could stop her, she whirled and fired three precise shots, hitting each of the motionless shamblers in the head.

Red, with a wordless cry, threw himself on Bethany as she turned the gun upon herself. Frank moved forward, but Red and Bethany struggled for control of the gun; Frank would only get in the way.

A single gunshot sounded and Frank held his breath, but Red got to his feet, gun in hand. He leaned down and kicked Bethany, giving Frank some very strange Catholic school feelings even though Bethany wasn’t actually a nun, then hauled Bethany to her feet.

“Frank. Zip ties.” Red was breathing hard, but he didn’t appear to be bleeding. Maybe the shot had gone wild? Bethany didn’t seem injured, either. “Pocket,” Red added.

Pocket? As in, that was where Frank should go to get the zip ties? He took a steadying breath and moved to reach in one of the pockets of Red’s cargo pants, unsure whether to be relieved or disappointed that it wasn’t the back pocket.

Frank secured Bethany’s hands and she opened her eyes. “You can’t stop me.”

“Pretty sure we did,” Frank replied. He bent down to consider the child, whose face had gone white, and bent down to close his eyes.

“It’s Luka, right?” Red asked, sounding sick. “And Yvonne and Jacek. They were walking.” He shook Bethany hard, rocking her head back. “How did you do this? Who are you working for?”

Bethany closed her mouth, smiling a tight-lipped smile that gave Frank chills.

Evil. She had to be, to do what she’d done.

Red looked like he wanted to hit her again, but he just hauled her to the gate of a nearby mausoleum. “Tie her to this,” he instructed.

Frank did, then pulled out his phone.

Red considered Bethany, then gave her one well-placed blow; she slumped over, unconscious, and Red looked… well, not happy. Grim. Frank started dialing and Red asked, “Who are you calling?”

“Mahoney.”

The call was short and involved some really creative profanity on Mahoney’s part. Frank neither confirmed nor denied that he’d been responsible for the distraction that had kept the cops away from the graveyard, but Mahoney knew the truth.

“C’mon,” he said to Red as he put away the phone. “They’ll be here soon.”

Red didn’t say anything, just stood there for a moment and then nodded, turning back toward the gate.

He pulled off his mask as they stepped through the fence, then went to Frank’s car without complaint.

“I have to tell Maggie,” he said, his voice low.

Frank nodded and turned the car toward the orphanage.

“You don’t have to come along,” Red added.

“I know.”

Sister Maggie opened the door almost before Red finished knocking. Her grim expression and the way she looked him up and down made Frank wonder how often Red had come there at night. She definitely didn’t seem surprised to see him, at least, though her brows went up a little when she noticed Frank a few steps behind Red.

“Everything okay?” she asked, pulling the door open enough that they could come in.

“How much do you know about Bethany?” Red asked as she led the way into the kitchen.

Shaking his head as he settled into a seat, Frank said, “Don’t do that. Just tell her.” Realizing that he’d talked over the little nun, he added, “Sorry, Sister. But it’s better this way.”

Sister Maggie gave Frank a long, assessing look, then turned to Red. “Just rip off the Band-Aid, Matthew. Whatever it is, I can take it.”

Frank saw what looked like a whiskey bottle in an upper cabinet and went to investigate. Seeing that it was, he pulled it down, bringing over three glasses as well.

“You can take it,” he said, putting one of the glasses before Sister Maggie, “But you might want some of this.”

Red nodded in understanding as Frank poured, and knocked back the drink Frank put in front of him. “This is some wild sh…tuff,” he said.

Looking a little exasperated, Sister Maggie said, “I know you swear, Matthew, and it’s not like I can wash your mouth out for it.”

Frank heard the unstated _any more_ and looked between Red and the nun. Huh. Well, yeah, she _had_ been here when Red was a kid.

Frank bet she had the _best_ stories, but this was definitely not the time. He just sat back in his chair and nursed his drink as Red explained what had happened, his voice low and rough.

Sister Maggie, to her credit, didn’t swear or cry, though at times she looked like she wanted to do both. When she learned what Bethany had done, she went pale, though Frank thought at least part of it was from anger.

“How did she do it, bring them back?” she asked when Red had finished his tale.

“No idea. There’s a way that I knew of, once before, but I don’t think that’s what was done here.”

“That’s probably why she shot them,” Frank said, as it occurred to him. “Make it harder to study them.”

Matt added, his expression grim, “They didn’t really seem like themselves, not like people at all, even.”

“What will we tell the families?” Sister Maggie asked, the lines between her brows deepening as she frowned.

“The cops,” Frank began, but Sister Maggie shook her head.

“They’re part of our community. They deserve to hear this news with compassion, from people who care about them.” She rubbed at her forehead with the heel of her hand, adding, “Jacek and Yvonne don’t have a lot of family left, but poor Luka’s parents.”

Frank’s heart broke a little for them. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t give to hold Maria and the kids again, but not like that, not as shadow versions of their former selves. “They weren’t alive. Not really. They just… existed.” He heaved a sigh, adding, “Maybe Mahoney can keep it quiet until your people can go talk to them. And the cemetery definitely isn’t going to want the press.”

“Can you talk to Brett?” Matt asked.

Frank probably wasn’t Mahoney’s favorite person, all things considered, but he nodded. Red seemed to want to stay with Sister Maggie. Frank considered the two of them as they spoke quietly, and something stirred in the back of his mind, something he’d want to talk to Red about later: that odd similarity in their profiles, the way they grasped their glasses the same way. And they both did that eyebrow thing. Huh.

There were a few things he wanted to talk to Red about, come to think of it, like how it had felt to come to with Red crouched over him, the pressure of Red’s hand against the back of his head. How he’d wanted nothing more than to keep Red safe earlier, even though he’d known Red could handle himself.

“I’ll go call Mahoney,” Frank said. He’d find out what they’d learned from Bethany; she couldn’t have done this alone, and Frank wanted to track down anybody else involved, make sure they didn’t do this again.

Red and Sister Maggie said their farewells, and Frank went out to sit in his truck to call Mahoney.

He’d stay there, he decided as he took out his phone.

It was getting late.

When Red finished up, maybe he’d want a ride home.

Frank could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for making it to the end! Hope you enjoyed it! Big thanks to titC for all the cheerleading. <3

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Child death (off-camera), suicide attempt (brief, thwarted), zombies (kind of)


End file.
